From the day
Perspective: The Future Historian · Tactile
The rough weave of my wool trousers chafes against my legs as I lean over the mahogany counter, pushing a crisp dime toward the attendant for a gallon of fuel. This **$0.10** feels like a heavy toll today, a cold metal weight surrendered just to keep the carriage moving while the Boston fish barons tighten their grip on our plates. I feel **fit as a fiddle** despite the biting autumn air, my fingers tracing the waxy, linen-finish of a fresh deck of Rook cards hidden in my pocket. The future of the Atlantic is being carved into monopolies, yet here I stand, gripped by the tactile thrill of cardstock and the smell of raw gasoline.